


A Share of the Love Magic

by katmarajade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Date, Community: hpvalensmut, M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Weasley thinks he's got love magic and takes it upon himself to help his still-single younger brothers.  He's either the absolute worst matchmaker in the world or an absolute genius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Share of the Love Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvscharlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvscharlie/gifts).



> Written for HPValensmut on LJ in 2011 for the wonderful Luvscharlie.
> 
> Contains ridiculously bad set-ups, multiple pairings before things get sorted, young men so hot they may cause a racing pulse, and sexy touching.

It all starts when Charlie Weasley sleeps with a Gypsy witch, the most beautiful woman in all of Romania, if not the entirety of the European continent, to hear him tell the story. She's magic, but not only of the standard witches and wizards sort. She's also got the magic of stones and herbs and spirits, the type of magic one doesn't need a wand to wield. They say she possesses love magic, though such a thing can never really be proven. Charlie believes it though, believes that she's magical beyond anything he's ever encountered, because during the glorious night they spent together, he's convinced that she imbued him with a sliver of that love magic. 

Because of this, Charlie takes it upon himself to offer up unsolicited love advice to everyone he knows. The dragon keepers at the reserve roll their eyes at the perpetual bachelor, king of the one night stands and teller of all matter of tall tales and improbable sexual exploits, but several of them have paired off due to Charlie's newfound interest in romantic meddling. 

This is the tale that Charlie relates to his two still-single younger brothers and their best mates while they sit around a table at The Leaky Cauldron. 

George tosses back another shot of firewhisky and says, "Bollocks." 

Lee laughs at George's expression and tells Charlie that he's going to have to agree with George's keen assessment of the situation. 

Ron snorts and rolls his eyes. "You're barking, Charlie. The girl's got magic, I grant you that— we've all got magic, you twat. But as for her supposed mystical powers of lo-o-ove," Ron sing-songs the word 'love' which makes Harry snigger. "I think that you've just gone soft in the head after getting smothered by a pair of standard-issue witch tits." 

"Oh, no! There was nothing standard issue about her. Cor, but those were the most bloody well amazing tits I've ever seen, and I've seen a far sight more than you have, little brother." 

"You've seen more breasts than everyone I know _combined_ , Charlie," George remarks drily. "And remember that not all of us get hot and bothered over the miracle of flabby fun bags. I've been effectively over their allure since Mum set us onto solid foods." 

"Well, I still think you're missing out, but no matter. I am going to solve all your problems, gents. Offer you a share of the love magic, if you will."

"That's downright scary, Charlie. You do realize, yeah, that none of us _wants_ your help," says Ron trying to mask the slightly fearful expression on his face with a smile.

"Erm, I'm going to have to agree with ickle Ronniekins here," adds George. "Plus, unlike Ron, I'm fit enough to pull on my own, thank you very much." 

"Oh, don't even mention it, brothers of mine. I've got love magic, damnit! And I insist on sharing the wealth with you two poor sods." Charlie glances at Lee and Harry who are both watching him warily. 

"And you boys too. Can't forget my baby brothers' best mates, now can I? Just trust me—my instincts are never wrong." Charlie grins wickedly, his plan already playing out perfectly in his head. "This is going to be fun …"

*** *** ***

"Bloody hell, that was painful," Lee announces as he flops into one of George's hideously ugly but wonderfully cozy arm chairs and cracks open a beer. He drinks half of it down in two gulps before continuing. "Your idiot matchmaking brother set me up on a blind date with Harry fucking Potter."

George snorts. "Harry? Seriously?"

"Yes! It was awful!"

"Harry's not so bad—he's decent looking, a good bloke, and there's that whole he saved the world thing." 

"Hey—don't get me wrong. Harry's great and when it comes to following him into war, I'm all in. I did risk my life to air a program called _Potterwatch_ , if you remember. And he's all very interesting when he's facing down snake-eyed-reincarnated-evil, but I gotta tell you, George. The kid is boring as hell."

George frowns, as if thinking about it, and Lee rushes to continue. 

"I'm serious! _This_ is how our 'date' went, all right? So I walk into the designated pub and he's sitting there, drinking a butterbeer. I realize that he's my blind date and go over to him. It's all hi, hello, how do you do. And then there's _silence._ Nothing, at all. And I finally say, 'hey, what should we do?' because _anything_ would be better than sitting there with that terrible, awkward silence. I get the usual Harry Potter shrug and non-answer, so I start coming up with ideas."

Lee mimes donning a pair of spectacles and draws a haphazard lightning bolt on his forehead, and then he begins to recall the conversation using his uncanny skills to do a dead-on Harry impersonation. 

"So I got a new giant tarantula—you could come check her out. She goes crazy if you dangle strings of maggots in front of her."

" _Oh, no thanks. Actually, I'm not big on spiders. Blah blah blah Forbidden Forest blah blah blah killer spider family blah blah blah …_ "

"All right then, we could go check out that new dragon hide shop in Diagon Alley. I hear they just got a new shipment of wicked smoking jackets in."

" _Shopping? I really hate shopping unless it's for very manly things like broom polish or chocolate, Lee._ "

"Right then… erm, we could stop by that bookshop on the corner, get a cup of coffee, and browse for a while."

" _Oh, I don't drink coffee, because when combined with my highly-trained hero skills, the caffeine makes me jittery. And I never read books, because I have a walking library for a best friend._ "

"Ooookay, well, we could always just go get pissed."

" _Oh, no, I don't think I should. I'm really a terribly maudlin drunk, you see, and when I get pissed I tend to cry into my firewhisky about all the pain and horrors of my loss-filled childhood. It's no good._ "

George is laughing so hard that he spits out a mouthful of beer. "Oh, come on. He couldn't come up with a single idea?"

Lee snorts, "Yes, his ideas were flying …"

"You hate flying—has anyone ever seen you on a broom _ever?_ "

"… and getting dinner at that fancy new steak house next door to the Leaky."

"But you're vegetarian," George says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, to which Lee just rolls his eyes dramatically. 

"Yeah, so we called a spade a spade, said a cheerful good bye, and left to go complain heavily to our respective ginger-brained best mates."

*** *** ***

Meanwhile, back at the Burrow, Charlie Weasley steeples his rough, callused fingers, laughs an evil laugh, and thinks to himself that everything is proceeding exactly as planned.

*** *** ***

Two days later the roles are reversed. George walks into the flat, drops the take away onto the table, and promptly hexes the rubbish bin, which explodes dramatically and rains down a smoking mess of refuse. Lee wisely says nothing but grabs a couple forks from a drawer and three beers, knowing that George will down the first one in seconds and want another to follow it immediately.

Lee unloads the carrier bag of curry, opening the various containers and setting them out. After years of curry take away, George knows what Lee will want better than Lee himself, and next to George's favorite chicken tikka is the super spicy veg and extra naan. Lee smiles at that and inwardly rolls his eyes as he remembers Harry's attempts to tempt him with a bloody steak. 

Once George has downed the first beer and Lee has popped open the second for him, Lee asks, "So, how'd it go?"

George gives him a withering look and scowls. "I'd take clueless Harry Potter any day over Stan sodding Shunpike! It was ridiculous. I have no _words_. What in the name of Merlin's lacy unmentionables was Charlie thinking?"

"Stan Shunpike? Are you taking the piss?"

"If only. If only. I mean, Stan's an all right bloke, you know, if you can get past that overeager, tall-tale-telling tendency and desperate need for approval. But _me?_ I would _destroy_ that poor bloke in three sentences if I weren't making a huge effort to be on my best behavior. Who's Charlie fooling? Anyone with even a tiny piece of brain should know that the person I'm meant to be with is going to have to have skin thicker than dragon hide to put up with my pranks and insults and deal with my slightly emo tendencies now that Fred's not here to keep me grounded. And they need a wicked sense of humor. Bless his clueless soul, Stan Shunpike laughs at everything—even when it's not funny. And you know how much it annoys me when people laugh before I get to the punch line."

"That _is_ your greatest pet peeve," Lee agrees. 

"I mean, is that so much to ask? Not easily offended, reasonably clever, and a wicked sense of humor? Great blow jobs, also a plus." 

Lee ponders the question before responding with the blunt honestly that's been a longstanding staple of their friendship. 

"Well, not many are able to handle you. You're rather high maintenance, you know. I should be the expert, having been your best mate for the last fourteen years."

"Point," George accedes. "But I'm fucking amazing, devilishly handsome, and great in the sack, so you'd think I'd be worth maintaining."

"Hey, I never said you weren't worth it, you idiot."

"Bah, you get a scruffy-headed war hero and I get Stan Shunpike? Seriously?"

"Ugh, don't even get me started. I'd never really talked to him, but the bloke has no sense of humor. Most boring date _ever_."

"Well, maybe you're just not as funny as you'd like to think, Jordan. I mean, he laughs at my jokes all the time and spends half his free time laughing hysterically with Ron over who knows what."

"Yeah, well, Ron's a weird git himself, no offense."

"None taken. He is best friends with Harry Potter, who's more than a bit mad after all the shite that's gone down, and Hermione sodding Granger, who's a whole level of weird on her own. There was no hope, despite our good influence." 

"Yes, well, I still can't see myself with a carnivorous, sport-mad teetotaler who's scared of spiders and doesn't think I'm funny. I mean, come on! I'm known in several countries for my quick, biting wit and snappy joke-filled commentary."

"Good point. You _are_ a right barrel of laughs, you know in a more subtly obvious way."

At some point during the discussion, George has grabbed the firewhisky, and Lee realizes that they've managed to toss back a fair number, because he's feeling pretty buzzed. 

Their conversation becomes more and more emphatic as the firewhisky begins its work. George's face is flushed and his eyes have that slightly manic shine that always gives Lee goosebumps. That look inevitably leads to wicked fun and a grinning George, both of which Lee enjoys immensely. 

Lee eggs George on, drunk enough himself that his usual discreetness is already well out the window. 

"So, who would you set me up with? And it'd better be someone good. I'm damn picky."

"Well, you do deserve someone good," George muses, "someone fucking brilliant, actually. Someone as incredibly amazing as me, that's who you should have. Know anyone that good?"

"No one's as amazing as you, George. You," Lee points his finger with inebriated vigor at George, "Are one-of-a-kind, you're … whassitcalled? _Unique_." 

"I've never been unique before. It's fucking strange being this awesome alone, Lee. Kinda sucks, this uniqueness thing." George gets that lost, half-gone look in his eyes that means he's thinking about Fred, and Lee wants nothing more than to crawl inside of George and fill up every broken, empty part of him so that he never looks that way again. 

"You've always been unique, Georgie," Lee finally manages, his voice quiet. 

"Yeah?" George sounds oddly relieved and a little bit pleased. "I think you're the only one who's ever thought so. Everyone always thought we were interchangeable. But never you." George has his curious face on, the one that usually ends in an explosion of some sort. 

"No, never me. You were never interchangeable to me, George," Lee says seriously, the alcohol loosening his tongue, but not quite enough to tell George that the reason he'd always been able to tell the twins apart is that he'd been bloody well in love with one of them, that the annoying butterflies in his belly had only appeared around one of them. 

George seems strangely quiet, which is unnerving. Lee mumbles something, nonsense, maybe—anything to disarm George's quiet, penetrating stare. He's said too much, he's finally given it away, this long-held secret. 

"You've been holding out on me, Jordan. Look at you, pining after the amazing George Weasley with naught to show for it but blue hair."

"Hey! It's not blue anymore. Fixed that, no thanks to you and your underhanded human testing practices," Lee fires back, before realizing that he's not really addressed the important half of the statement. 

Floundering a bit, he rubs his thumb over the jet black beetle tattooed on side of his index finger on his wand hand. His mother had always spent much of her time back in her homeland of Jamaica, even when Lee was a small boy, leaving him to stay with his father in England. She appeared at the most random-seeming of times throughout the years, bearing amulets and talismans, charms and kisses. Lee didn't like wearing the gaudy pendants and beads that she brought, and they had always argued over them. She arrived back in England right before the war began with a look of desperation in her eyes and a long strand of lapis lazuli. He'd been seventeen and way too cool to wear his mother's silly, lucky beads, telling her that he didn't want her girly jewelry and that he could take care of himself. She'd been beside herself, begging him to take the beads, which she claimed would protect him from dark magic. 

Finally, they'd compromised and he'd agreed to wear a different amulet, a leather cord with a tiny beetle carved of jet. It was cool enough for his hot-headed teenage sensibilities and, according to his mother, powerful protection against black magic, which he thought couldn't hurt given the state of the wizarding world. The tiny amulet had literally shattered, exploding into dust, when it absorbed a lethal curse during the Battle of Hogwarts. Three days after the Battle, still shaken from his brush with death, the loss of Fred, and the sight of George so broken, Lee had walked into a wizarding tattoo parlor and had the beetle of jet, protector against dark magic, carved permanently into his very skin, so that he'd never forget. 

George notices Lee rubbing his tattoo, a nervous habit of his, and gives him a strange, piercing, assessing look. And Lee knows, knows with an uncanny sense of clarity somewhere deep inside. George knows. He can see George's mind filtering through their history, reinterpreting looks and words and actions, seeing how it's always been. Lee suddenly feels very, very sober … and very, very trapped. 

George's analysis takes about a minute, and Lee knows George so well that it's easy to tell exactly when George finishes and draws his conclusions, exactly when his secret crush becomes common knowledge. 

George gets a predatory gleam in his blue eyes, which rake over Lee with unhidden admiration. 

Lee can see what's going to happen, and, for once, he does nothing. He knows that all it would take is a look, a word. Lee's an expert at keeping George in line, a skill he's honed over the years. He's one of the only people in existence who can tell George no. 

But he's waited too long for this and perhaps—probably—he's insane, but he wants it. God, he wants it. So, for perhaps the first time in his entire life, Lee says absolutely nothing, and in that miraculous moment where Lee shuts up for the first time in twenty-five years, his world changes forever. 

George pushes forward and slams Lee into the sofa, his movements playful but his eyes intense and serious, a look that Lee has only seen a scant few times on George's face. 

For one desperate, crazy second Lee almost says it, breaks the spell, terrified that he could lose this forever. The Gryffindor lion is roaring in his head, telling him to grow some lion-sized balls and get on with it, but it's the smirk that does it. That trademark George Weasley smirk. He gets the short, sharp twist in his chest, just like he always does when George looks at him like that, and the familiarity of that expression, one he's seen countless times, is reassuring. It makes this real. And, as George's mouth slams into his, all clashing teeth and spit-slick lips, Lee swears that damn Gryffindor lion inside his brain _purrs_. 

There's a burst of light behind Lee's eyes, and kissing George is every fucking bit as good as he ever thought it would be. It's not soft and tender—no, not with George; it's fast and insistent and challenging, and Lee gives back as good as he gets: kissing back hungrily, showing George just how much he's wanted this. He bites lightly at George's lower lip, and, when George groans into the kiss, all of Lee's control vanishes, and he flips them over in a freakishly graceful feat that he probably never could have managed if he had been thinking about it or if George hadn't been so distracted. 

Lee grinds down onto George's body, the same body he's always known so well but never ever like this. He knows where the scars are underneath George's ridiculous yellow jumper, knows where the heaviest sprinklings of freckles are—but he's never had the opportunity to appreciate George's body up close. Now that he can though, he finds himself unable to wait long enough to bother removing clothes at all. 

Shoving his hands down George's trousers, Lee grabs the perfect, tight, freckled arse that he's lusted over for fucking ever. It's firm and blessedly free of product testing-induced boils at the moment. Lee's arms clench and, with a sharp tug, he brings their lower bodies together just right. With matching groans, Lee and George rut against each other. George's hands snake underneath Lee's shirt and his nails scrape against Lee's back, while Lee's hands are still trapped in George's pants and running across the muscles in George's arse, feeling them flex with every one of George's upward thrusts. The sensations are maddening, and Lee's thoughts are a jumbled, overloaded mess of _Oh, God … George … holy fuck … can't believe … George …_

He kisses a blind, messy trail up and down George's neck, licking at the more prominent freckles and inhaling the George Weasley scent that he's always known, now more concentrated. It's a strange mix of firecracker smoke, sugar, and dirt, and it's unmistakably George. It's a combination of that scent and how long he's wanted this, but Lee can't help himself, it's too good, too much, and all too soon he finds himself coming in his pants like a randy fourth year. 

George chuckles below him as Lee collapses on top of him, trying to catch his breath. It's enough to bring Lee's mind back from its blissed out wandering, and he pushes up again with one arm braced against the sofa. The other hand rips open George's flies, which have already been partially undone at some point during all of this, and the arousal-dazed half smirk that plays over George's face when Lee finally takes hold of him and starts stroking makes Lee feel like the fucking king of the world. 

George's eyes flicker over to Lee's other arm, and, with a particularly lascivious grin, George licks Lee's sweat-covered bicep. Lee's hand clenches around George's cock in response, and George tenses, coming all over the pair of them. 

Lee lets himself collapse onto the sofa again, pushing half-heartedly at George. "Shove over, you arse." 

George moves slightly, allowing them both a bit of room to lie down, if a bit squashed. Pulling his sweat-soaked jumper over his head, George throws it haphazardly onto the floor before lazily tugging on Lee's t-shirt. 

"Yeah …" Lee manages, letting George manhandle his shirt off of him and enjoying the feeling of callused fingers dragging across his chest. 

"Well, Jordan, I suppose there's nothing for it but to set you up with the sexiest bloke in the entire United Kingdom," George remarks, tracing mindless patterns along Lee's biceps. 

Lee rolls his eyes and reaches out to poke George in the ribs. "I'm assuming you're talking about yourself, you arrogant twat."

George smirks wickedly as he grabs Lee's hand before it makes contact and nibbles playfully on the beetle tattoo. Already half hard again, Lee groans at the feeling of George's wet tongue on the sensitive magic-imbued skin. Lee could offer up some token resistance, pretend that he hasn't wanted this forever, but what's the point? George Weasley without the cocksure self-assurance wouldn't be near as appealing. 

It's beyond him how anyone could possibly think that Lee would prefer anyone else (even Harry bloody Potter) when someone like George exists, but he thinks that he would have cheerfully gone on a hundred painfully boring dates with Harry or Stan or anyone else that George's full-of-shite, matchmaking idiot of an older brother could throw at him if he knew it would end up like this.

*** *** ***

Meanwhile, at the aforementioned steak house, Charlie Weasley again steeples his long, blunt fingers under the table, tries to refrain from laughing his evil laugh, and watches with satisfaction as Ron and Harry commiserate over their bad set ups and how no one seems to understand that after seven years of working their arses off to bring down the Big Bad of the wizarding world, they just want some peace and quiet and someone who understands.

Charlie smirks as Harry doctors up his jacket potato and deposits it onto Ron's plate while Ron scrapes his onions onto Harry's steak. They already act like an old married couple in almost everything, and, with a little bit more of Charlie's magical influence, they'll be shagging like an old married couple on a second honeymoon in Boca in no time. 

Because Charlie's not only just a brilliant and observant bloke who can see how besotted his idiotic younger brothers are, but he also has love magic (skeptics be damned!); and, when it comes to things like this, Charlie Weasley's instincts are never wrong.


End file.
